And then there was three...

Three.. whoopsee doo. If there is such a word, I'd use it more often. Although not as "learned" as some words like virufication, which is awkwardly pronounced, it raises the eyebrow to find it printed in reputable publications.

I digress.

Three. I have not forgotten about my list of Ten. Having shot at everything but the target at a recent outing in the Sungai Besi army camp, I had the opportunity to try out two more items on my own, not the Casey Kasem Top 40 list, but my own small ego boosting, narcissistic list.

Martial arts. I had the chance to try out a class with the dear friend who was very encouraging. It was my first attempt at learning the Wong Fei Hung slides, poses and very "cool" stances.

Initially thinking it was a slow paced class, I decided to keep my mind open and stood in the drizzle with the other brothers and of course, the grandmaster. We started off with the salutations, this is a branch of a grander style Kung Fu, of which I have yet to find the English translation to, nevertheless, I must say.. it was ..... rock on! My favourite phrase in the last couple of months since the shooting trip.

Anyhow, the master taught me the differences in punches, from jabs, uppercuts and hooks.. and ahem.. I must say so myself, he pointed out to me that although my jabs needed some work, I was doing fine (for a first timer), with my hooks and uppercuts. Fooyoh!

The conversation about physical strength and Kung Fu came up over breakfast and wine one night and another dear friend points out that men, being physically stronger or for some reason or another, find it easier to execute strong punches,.. she and my Kung Fu pal looked at me funny... And concluded that indeed, it was strange that sifu found my punches to be strong.
The two decided that I was indeed turning into a bloke, after I admitted I could not talk and text message at the same time while struggling to walk on a gravel road in my two-inch heels.
Very funny, guys.

I digress.. again...
Martial arts is certainly fun, but more importantly, it reminded me how important discipline is... .. I promise, soon, I will commit to Kung Fu soon..

I said three, right. Mandarin is what I promised myself to learn. I moved one step closer to the fulfilment of this item on the wishlist. Picking up one of those language CDs from the bookstore, I decided that I will commit to listening to it in the car, or on my green iPod nano. Commit is the operative word here. Nevertheless I take pride in the fact that the language CD is not in the store now but in my room, waiting to be downloaded and appreciated. Ha!

Three. Well on my way to fulfilling Ten.

No sleep..

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night, feeling as it your heartbeats are unusually fast.. you pant... panicking as if the room will close up on you... your claustrophobic fears slowly engulf you....

Brr..

Well.. it didn't happen to me so dramatically.. but I can relate to that.
I did wake up one night, feeling that way. I thought I was going mad. Or that that third cup of coffee was working overtime.. I then talked about it at work one day and someone used the words anxiety attack, that perhaps it was an anxiety attack.

Strange.

I hardly take these things seriously, for fear of being labelled as a drama queen, as paranoid and overreacting. But.

These nights didn't exactly stop... In fact when insomnia crept in.. I wondered.. could these caffeine striken corridor chats bear some semblance to truth.

As my clock ticks towards the ams, and the nights grow quieter while I lay awake.. Hoping I can turn my thoughts off, hoping that I can get some rest before the day begins again..

Maybe.

Anxiety is a big word.

Breathe Susie breathe.......

Worn out shoes, broken key chains and Xanax

I take a slow drive tonight. I heave a sigh of tiredness. Thinking back, physical exhaustion was
source not of my sighs and dark rings.
"What is?" I ask as I stopped at the red lights.

Slowly walking to the corners to find quiet, solace and peace, my chain of keys fall to the ground, into pieces.

I stop. I realise. The worn out soles, the expired music machines, the broken keys.
I said to myself, "They break in my hands, as I busied chasing my dreams."

I penned moments hours earlier. I let out much earlier. I ask again. They break, they fall apart, they are not important?

I penned more morbidity earlier. Talked about slips away, words of living stopped captured. Stop, I said, stop asking, stop caring.

These words keep me awake at night, these words keep thoughts alive. She says anxiety, she advised tranquility.

Triviality to some. Nocturnality to others.

I want to. Turn off. Switch off. Shut down.

Perks and pecularities

Something rung in my head the other day after a long lunch with an old friend. This friend has just left the journalism fraternity to join the corporate world.

As I continue to jibe him about wearing cufflinks and a tie, he smiles and points out that the cheapest ties he can find from the shops close to his new office was priced at least a hundred ringgit.
I told him, today, he has to step out of his journalistic shoes and view the world from a different glassbowl.
He readily agreed, saying that working in the corporate world gives him a completely new perspective.
Gone are the days of flexible working hours, the numerous tea breaks and the cigarette time-outs. Gone also are the days of wearing tattered jeans and your favourite Hard Rock Bali t-shirt to the office.
Welcome to a world where attires are pressed neatly, collars straight, and stiff suits prevail. I reminded him that the lucrative package offered should buy him a nice tie.

As we laugh off it, he shared with me about his colleagues, and once again remind me how people are driven by very different things.
It never fails to amaze me to read the wonderful chapters of the societal pages, the colours that define our human cultures, behaviour and etiquette in the world we live in.

My friend opined that his colleagues, some barely in the workforce for three years, were driving luxury cars, wearing designer brands and carrying designer goods. A father of three, with over a decade of journalism experience, he shakes his head with disbelief.

His quote, “I guess journalism exposes us to different things, and I’m ever grateful for that experience”.

This last phrase before we went separate ways, rung in my head.

I can’t speak on the behalf of others or those in similar professions in similar environments, the stories we hear each day, make us laugh and cry, in shame, with joy, expressed in multitude of emotions.

I sit quietly when a tsunami survivor tells her story, as she tears and explains the devastation, I laugh when I hear a philandering doctor climbing out of his clinic window as fuming wife chases him after finding out about his other “close female friends.”

While having no prejudices for other industries, lifestyles and professions, a journalist myself, I find that it constantly makes me question, the drives behind the material goods, the motivation for the different lifestyle choices, the care for different status and perceptions people keep.

Like him, I am no different, I enjoy comfortable living, I have my indulgences, and occasional splurges. It is difficult not to sound judgmental, but it always fascinate me how different things mean differently to others.

I watch as my girlfriend delicately handles her new branded handbag, while at the other extreme, I listen intently to a friend who struggles to keep his medical commitments and filial responsibilities.

I watch as my own father washes his brand new car on a daily basis, and I listen as my mother tells me the stories of how she gives away her pension to help someone make ends meet.

Looking at my five year old pseudo four-wheel drive with a busted radio and my tattered shoes.. I say…….life is wonderful.